Private path

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    “I’m bored,” Brenna finally announces after standing inches from me, unacknowledged for what seems like a minute.

    “I’ll go on a bike ride with you,” I offer.

    “Can we go to Dairy Queen too?” she counters.

    “No,” I answer flatly. “We just had cookies.”

    “I’m not biking then,” she huffs.

    “Okay,” I say, calling her bluff.

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